


Electricity & Fire

by meaninglessblah



Category: Six Realms
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Power Dynamics, Threesome, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 18:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13770045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Becken's impatient and constantly breaks military uniform standards. Bitva and Kolben decide to teach him a lesson.





	Electricity & Fire

Bitva could feel the impatience rolling off him in waves as he slumps on the sofa, the toes of his boots twitching sporadically. She smiles to herself, slowing her hand in its graceful arc across the parchment, watching the trail of black ink seep into the ivory skin. “You’re not very subtle.”

“It’s not my strongest quality,” Becken retorts, and she chuckles quietly. “Are you going to be much longer?”

“I’m so sorry my invaluable knowledge on the tactics of warfare are impeding on your precious time. If your dick’s really that impatient, I’m sure Kolben would be happy to address it,” she says, her tone playfully scathing. Becken’s head tilts backwards over the arm of the chair, his brows laced in a soft glower.

On the opposite sofa, Kolben blushes, but says nothing.

Becken’s face splits in a mischievous grin. “You sure you wouldn’t like to have an attempt first?”

Bitva laughs, the sound high and pealing, falling like a light snow throughout the room. “If you wanted to write up some of these reports, I might be more inclined to help you out.”

Becken’s gaze is half-incredulous. “Did you just give me an ultimatum?”

“I don’t know, baby, was it that hard to figure out? Maybe if you let your head do some of the thinking rather than your dick–”

“Since when do you get to call the shots?”

Bitva grins down at her papers, unhurried. “Since I had you begging in under a minute last time.”

She doesn’t have to look up to see Becken’s embarrassed blush, and just to drive her point home, she raises her gaze to Kolben where he perches absentmindedly on the edge of his sofa, his posture militaristically perfect.

“Kolben can be my witness if your little mind’s forgotten since then.”

He jolts at being mentioned, glancing first at Bitva, then at Becken, where his glare has darkened with his blush.

“Shut up,” Becken grumbles, rolling to his feet in a lithe move not unlike a cat’s. His boots ring across the tiles as he crosses over to her desk, scooping up a set of pages with a light hand, flicking through them inattentively. “Are you finished writing?”

“Are you finished begging?”

“This isn’t begging,” he snorts, leaning a hip against the polished mahogany wood. From this angle, Bitva can see the play of muscles over his abdomen, the way his uniform hugs the curve of his torso. He’s naturally attractive, blessed with features attributed to creatures of myth – the delicate curved lips of the seductive siren, the broad chest of alluring mermen.

He bares all the trademarks of the Wasser Realm; sun-kissed skin, rolling muscles that form his arms and chest, honed from hours of hard labour in the open fields. Then there’s the dip of his hipbones, the way his hips roll effortlessly: he’s been trained to ride horses his entire life, he’s intimate with the movements of his lower body, knows exactly the limitations and boundaries of his own form. His confidence is intoxicating.

His blue gaze – a rich, deep blue reminiscent of lakes or sapphire stones – slides over to Bitva, assessing her. “Enjoying the view?”

“If I am?” she retorts without pause.

“It can be improved,” he suggests, tilting his chin up and staring down at the pages in his calloused hands aloofly. He’s not one for reading, and his eyes are moving too quickly for him to take anything in anyway; he’s an utter tease.

Bitva returns to her work with a slightly smug smile. “Then I’m sure Kolben will appreciate it.”

Becken groans under his breath, pushing off the table not so much with force but with a slight shift in his weight and balance, and she’s once again reminded of his agility. “What do I have to do to get your attention here?”

“Try wearing your uniform correctly.”

He glances down at himself with a half-frown, assessing his pristine white shirt and dark, form-fitting slacks. “What’s wrong with it?”

Bitva sighs. He’s constantly attracting attention from his superiors about the way he dresses, how he forgets to turn his collar all the way down or how he allows the first button to hang open to expose a sliver of warm skin across his collarbone. His jacket is unbuttoned, the dulled golden buttons catching the light. The strict contour of the black collar traces his jawline, the rolled sleeves yanked up around his elbows, as is his shirt. “Kolben, show him, please,” Bitva says in exasperation.

He rises immediately, and she can’t help but muse over the obedience he shows, even though he outranks both of them. He’s a commander of an entire legion; the row of engraved buttons along his turned-back cuffs mark him as such. But his responses are unquestioningly compliant, despite the fact that both Bitva and Becken are several rungs below him. In this room, in this company, he has the least control, the least authority.

His thin fingers pick at Becken’s white shirt collar, and the latter tilts his head back impatiently as he bites his lower lip, allowing the younger man better access as he jerks it up, smoothing the creases of the uniform down as his hands glide over Becken’s chest. His fingers slip into the Wasserborn’s pocket, making the man jolt with surprise, but he simply tugs the bundled tie out of it, looping it over his neck and dragging him down.

Of the three, Becken is the tallest by a half-foot, and he doubles over slightly, looking petulant as Kolben’s fingers pluck nimbly at the tie, tightening it around his neck. He folds the collar down with dazzling efficiency, years of practice aiding in familiarity and speed. He doesn’t button the jacket up, instead tugging the two sides together as best he can, smoothing down the collar and tracing half-curious fingers over the bright blue strip that lines its edge.

Kolben’s own jacket is buttoned up to his jawline, as all commanders’ are. Every button is linked to an attending hole, arranged meticulously to match the militaristic nature of his posture. Nothing is amiss; even his shoes are polished to gleaming. The silver around his jacket collar catches the light as he steps back a few paces, linking his hands behind his back. “Better, ma’am?”

Bitva glances up, drinking in Becken’s drastically improved uniform, as well as his mildly irritated expression, and laughs at how uncharacteristic he looks. He sighs heavily, casting a glare at her as he runs a hooked finger along the inner edge of his black tie, loosening it. “I thought the objective here was to have me wearing _less_ clothes?”

“I prefer my men dressed up,” Bitva admits with a coy smile, but she can see the impatience dancing the line into exasperation as Becken meets her gaze. “If you’re so eager, you can start without me. I’m going to get out of this uniform.”

His eyes light up at that. “Need some help?”

She casts a deprecating look in his direction, returning her pen to its inkwell. “Pay attention to your own little problem,” she says, nodding towards his pants, and he rolls his eyes. She turns her attention to gentling tugging at the knot of her own tie. “Or to Kolben’s.”

He swallows harshly at that; the only break in his stoic composure, and the stare that Becken turns on him is positively wolfish. “You’re the boss,” he concedes in a purr, advancing on Kolben as the lowborn’s hands come apart behind his back, his brow knitting with apprehension.

He raises his hands slightly as he steps back, putting distance between them as Becken advances. He mumbles, casting his gaze down as he hurries backwards. His knees hit the arm of the sofa, and he topples with a yelp of surprise, sinking into the soft cushions. Becken is leaning over him in the next second, grinning teeth gleaming as he pins the man between two firm arms.

“You’re not holding out on me, are you, Kolben?” he purrs, and the lowlord swallows, shrinking down. Subconsciously or not, his hips arch upwards slightly, hovering off the cushions. Becken notices, and his grin widens. “Eager, aren’t you?”

Bitva pushes her chair back, sliding the tie from beneath her collar as she rises. She crosses the room, surveying Becken as he kneels over Kolben, his knees pressing into the other man’s hips. With swift hands she loops the necktie around Becken’s neck, pressing warm lips to his ear. “I think he wants to be tied up,” she whispers, and Becken turns to beam at her.

He levels his gaze on Kolben, his tone sharp and authoritative. “Put your hands above your head; cross your wrists.” The lowborn’s hands snap up eagerly as Becken tugs the tie from its loose hold around his throat, lashing it around Kolben’s wrists. He hooks two fingers in the bindings, pinning his limbs above him as he leans down to seize Kolben’s lips.

The man arches up to meet him, moans rising in his throat as Becken’s single free hand drops to unbutton his jacket with startling speed. His hand runs down the sensitive skin of Kolben’s side over his shirt, making him curve away from the torturously feather light touch. Becken takes the opportunity to seize a handful of his white dress shirt and tug it from beneath his belt. Kolben jolts with the ferocity, lifting his hips as Becken drags it up to his waist, exposing his pale midsection.

Bitva smirks as she slips her jacket from not-quite-petite shoulders, folding it over the arm of the opposite sofa as she unbuttons her blouse. Becken’s lips have parted with Kolben’s, coming up to nip the side of his jawline, making the man squirm beneath him. His breaths are already short, soft gasps, his fingers lightly curled in their restraints.

Bitva sits on the cushion above Kolben’s hands, watching his head arch and his gaze flick upwards to glance at her, before they go wide as Becken runs a row of teeth along the ridge of his ear. His moan is ecstatic, and it sends tingles up Bitva’s spine at the sound. She leans forwards, relieving Becken’s hand of the makeshift bonds as he pulls back.

Her lips brush Kolben’s, and his head tips back into the cushions, his throat exposed as he tilts to accommodate the angle. Bitva’s fingers trickle through his thin dark hair, twirling strands around her fingers and tugging lightly. He leans into the touch, eager for more as Becken’s hands make short work of his dress shirt, releasing him from the starched material and pressing it back over his shoulders until it hangs around his forearms.

His lips suck at the line of Kolben’s collarbone, raising dark bruises as they migrate across the pale canvas of his shoulders and up his neckline. Bitva presses delicate kisses to his cheekbones, and to his closed eyes. When she leans back, they pry open, glimmering molten silver.

His neck is flushed and speckled with hickeys, from the dip to his hairline.

“Sorry,” she murmurs into his cheekbone as her lips descend to trace his ear. He shudders under her delicate touch, and she can tell he’s straining to focus on her with Becken’s mouth drawing him into a daze. “But you’re going to need to make use of your hands.”

Her nails catch in the knots of the necktie, picking them apart as his wrists fall open, one hand snaking up to card through Becken’s hair as Kolben groans, his mouth free. Becken chuckles into the curve of his shoulder, and Kolben writhes.

“Sit up,” she instructs, and his free hand pushes him upright, twisting halfway to meet her gaze. She can see the contortion of his stomach where he rotates, his abdomen faintly toned with years of physical endurance. His muscles are coiled, and his knees pry apart to give him more core strength as he turns to give her half his attention, Becken sliding the shirt and jacket off him as he goes.

His forehead comes to her nose, and she tilts her head to bite down on his lower lip as Becken trails around to nip at his shoulder blades. He turns completely, one hand rising to gently drag her hip towards his, the other sliding past her open shirt to press trembling fingers into her back. His hand is large enough that it encircles half her ribcage, his thumb dragging through the grooves of her ribs as she leans around his touch, arching. Her breasts press against his chest, her thighs hugging his hips as she presses herself to him, demanding his attention.

He tries, he truly does.

Becken’s nails slice down his bare back, and he cries out loudly, the sound involuntary and laced with carnal desire. His consideration is torn again, his mind stretched between the torturous sharp stimulation of Becken’s skilled calloused hands, and the slow, growing warmth of Bitva’s skin pressed to his.

It’s like choosing between electricity and fire; it’s a losing battle no matter the choice.

Kolben seems to realise this, because he caves against Bitva, his lips breaking from hers to gasp harshly into the strands of her hair where they pool around her shoulders, tickling her collarbone. She can feel the aftermath of Becken’s pleasurable assault when she runs hands down his spine, which is still shivering with the sensation.

Then Becken does something that makes him rut against her hips, sliding her bunched-up skirt higher on her thighs. The sound he makes is desperate, and Bitva pulls back to see Becken’s hand has slid between them to wrap around Kolben’s dick.

The lowlord chews on his lower lip, pressing his forehead into the curve of Bitva’s neck as he closes his eyes, trying to contain himself. His fingers are searing against her back and waist, holding her to him like he’ll shatter if he lets her go.

Becken grins at her, raising his head from where he sucks at the curve Kolben’s shoulder blade to meet her flushed lips. His kiss is insistent, taking the lead as she tilts her head, one hand parting from Kolben’s back to wind through Becken’s thick hair, fisting in the strands. She rises up on her knees to better clear Kolben’s shoulder and reach Becken’s increasingly demanding lips.

Kolben presses kisses to her collarbone, tracking down her sternum as the hand on her back plucks at the strings of her corset, tugging them free somewhat hurriedly so he can toss the article aside.

Becken’s hand traces lightly over the shell of her ear, tickling down the expanse of her throat as Kolben’s hand encompasses half her ribcage. His hand rises to knead her breast as his lips find her other nipple.

The sound she breathes into Becken’s mouth is high-pitched and airy as she leans into both of their touches, a ferocious tidal wave crashing against her lips and the steady tingling of sharp, attuned steel tracing her chest.

Kolben’s nails track lightly over her flesh, never harsh enough to cut, only light enough to leave the barest of impressions, to make her question whether they were ever actually there.

Becken’s hand drags away from where it has entangled itself in her hair, sliding against the sensitive flesh of her stomach and moving over Kolben’s hand on her waist as it descends to wrap around her inner thigh. His knuckles brush Kolben’s erection through his tight pants, inching higher up her leg, teasing the sensitive muscles. Kolben’s hand stutters on her breast as she gasps into Becken’s mouth.

Then Kolben’s hand is dropping to pick at the ties of her skirt, sliding them over her ass as he raises her, letting Becken help her wiggle out of it. Her undergarments are soon to follow as her nimble fingers work to relieve Kolben of his pants. His skin is hot when he melds his hips against her bare flesh, and electricity jolts up her spine. She can feel his hard-on pressing into her stomach, but the thought is pushed from her mind in the next second as Becken’s slick fingers push inside of her.

Breathing becomes impossible, her moans rising unheard in her own ears as she arches into his touch, melting. Her lips find his again, seizing them as she grinds against him. She’s vaguely aware of Kolben shifting beneath her, and then Becken’s fingers are replaced by the lowlord’s shaft.

Her nails sink into Kolben’s spine as he fills her, and he groans into her throat, the vibrations sending sparks dancing across her skin as she begins to ride him. The hand that is fisted in Becken’s hair relinquishes its grasp, mapping its way down his throat, chest and across an abdomen that undulates under her touch.

Bitva yanks his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans with shaking hands, past caring what damage she causes to the thin material. His hand joins hers in tugging his pants slightly off his hips, and her hand traces his pelvic bone as she breaks from his lips to draw in a hitched breath.

Her exhale is a cry of benediction.

Bitva’s hand dips into Becken’s pants as she presses lips to the pane of flesh between Kolben’s throat and his shoulder, sucking hard. He withers against her as her fingers wrap around Becken’s dick and begin to stroke. His hand rises to her throat, cupping the back of her neck to push aside her shower of hair as he lowers lips to the base of her hairline, following the trail of her spine that he can reach.

She’s lost to the feeling of Kolben inside of her, rocking his hips in measured thrusts, slow and deep as she tilts her hips to meet his. They’re all gasping for air, their heated breaths whispering across throats and ears and collarbones as their bodies press to one another, sharing heat and electricity.

Bitva is the epicentre, and she is the first to come, clenching around Kolben as he cries out. Her hand grinds into the slit of Becken’s dick, stroking him through his orgasm as he comes hard, his teeth knocking against her throat with his shout.

Kolben collapses forward, mindful to settle her back on the cushions before he pulls out, slumping against the arm, basking in afterglow.

Becken is the first to recover, tucking himself back into his pants and leaning across to press a grinning kiss to a hickey on Kolben’s throat as the other moans. His fingers ghost over his own collarbone and neck, discovering the love bites and counting them in that meticulous way he does. Bitva is suddenly aware of why he buttons his jacket all the way up almost to his jawline. But she suspects with a quiet thrill that the few riding high under his hairline won’t be so easily hidden.

Becken disappears into the adjoining washroom, presumably to clean his stomach, and Bitva reaches for her discarded clothes, slipping on the lower half of the articles.

Kolben surfaces from the couch to help her bind her corset, tightening the laces down her back. His fingers are gentle as they help her slip into her shirt, and she sits back to watch him slide his pants back over his hips. Bitva leans over with a small smile to run attentive fingers through his hair, combing it into an acceptable mess. Becken reappears then, leaning against the doorframe.

“Wasn’t that better than writing reports?” he teases lightly, as if chastising her, but he looks exhilarated. She can’t find any hickeys on his visible skin, and she can’t think back to remember whether she gave him any. Her fingers rise to trace the hickeys that line the back of her neck, and Becken’s grin widens.

“Yes,” she concedes. “Not sure my superiors would agree.”

“Your superior does agree,” Kolben mutters from where he’s gone back to lying on the couch, his gaze directed at the ceiling. The quip is so out-of-character for him that it stuns them both into silence, until they burst into laughter. A smile tugs at his lips, his fingers coming up absently to re-button his shirt.

Becken’s already tucking his into the waistband of his pants, stooping to sweep the discarded jacket up off the floor. Bitva reaches for her own, calling to him, “Not yours – that’s Kolben’s.”

He pivots it on the single finger it hangs on, thumb brushing over the silver edge to the collar, before he bends to lay it over the arm of the sofa. Kolben mumbles a thank you, and Becken snatches his up from the tiles, shrugging into it with ease. “Same time next week?”

“Sure you can wait that long?” Bitva teases lightly, flashing him a smile. He snorts, stepping out into the hallway and shutting the door behind him.

Bitva glances over at Kolben as he rises to his full height – at least a head taller than her. His jacket is now buttoned to his throat, and as he smooths down the front, she assesses the range of hickeys. She can count two; one on the underside of his jaw and the other below his earlobe. “Are they too noticeable?” he asks, meeting her gaze.

“Not really,” she assures him, rising to her feet and sweeping her hair from under her jacket. It falls in mahogany waves down to her shoulder blades, obscuring the trail Becken has left up her neck.

He heads for the doorway, but pauses with his fingers around the handle, turning back. “Are we sleeping together again tonight?”

She grins at their little habit, remembering the warmth of being sandwiched between two half-naked forms, her ankles intertwined with theirs as they breathed gently and steadily into her hair and neck, arms draped across her waist. “Tell Becken, and I’ll see you both in my chambers at ten.”

He nods his assent, flashing her a smile as he ducks out the door, leaving her to clean up and handle what’s left of her reports. She can’t wipe the smirk from her face for the rest of the afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> In response to the "Your superior does agree" quip, Kolben is a commander so he ranks above both Becken and Bitva. 
> 
> Read their adventures here: http://thesixrealms.tumblr.com/tagged/six%20realms/chrono


End file.
